


Homecoming

by Elialys



Series: Trickling Down the Hourglass [2]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-23 01:38:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19140991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elialys/pseuds/Elialys
Summary: The Doctor and Rose arrive home from Norway.





	Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> So. I’m officially creating a series for my Tentoo and Rose. Anything posted in that series is happening after [Calluses](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18287873). Right now I’m not planning on keeping things linear, I might write about something that I think would happen a few months or years down the road, then go back to something in the early stages of their relationship.
> 
> That being said, I’m starting it off with a fic that happens about…six hours after the end of Calluses?? Can you tell I’m hopeless? It came to be because about a day after finishing Calluses, my friend Laura told me she couldn’t stop thinking about what might happen next. Half of this story is based on what *she* thought happened next, which I loved quite a lot, obviously. The smutty bit is all me, and the fact that apparently, I cannot stop myself from writing them having sex?! I was also in the middle of writing my depressing Ten x Rose story and I needed to cheer myself up.
> 
> Anyway. This is fluffy and smutty, and I am shameless about both. Laura, this is especially for you; you know why ;-)

By the time they make it to her flat, they’re both getting a _bit_ cranky.

Although the flight itself was only a couple hours long, many more hours have passed since they left that hotel in Norway. Lost as they’d been in their little bubble, they’d failed to realise they were coming back at the tail end of an extended weekend…which meant bigger crowds, longer waiting times, and unforeseen flight delays that snowballed into more waiting times as the day progressed.

They sat in that plane for a good hour and a half before it was allowed to take off. Once they touched down at Heathrow, they had to wait another forty-five minutes before being let out of the plane.

Through this whole ordeal, they happened to be seated right across the aisle from a single mother with two extremely unhappy young children.

The Doctor, while initially patient, stopped smiling around Hour Three of their endless commute out of Norway. When he started responding to her in mere grunts instead of actual sentences, Rose stopped trying altogether.

(All that without mentioning the half-an-hour wait to retrieve the damn suitcase, or the fact that they decided to brave the London underground for another forty minutes after they spotted the _long_ taxi queue outside the airport.)

Hence them being a _bit_ cranky by the time they make it to her place, something they’re both trying to conceal from the other with tensed smiles every time they make eye contact, when really, there is no denying how abysmal this has been. Rose is not feeling any better when she lets them inside at last.

Her flat, although decent, is neither big nor homey.

It’s small because that’s all she could afford in London on her Torchwood salary. She knows all she’d have to do is _ask_ to be given a ridiculous amount of money by her ridiculously rich parents, but she’s been determined to be as independent as possible ever since she realised she was going to be stuck here for longer than she thought.

The lack of homey feel is due exclusively to the fact that she’s spent little to no time actually _living_ here in the three-and-half years since she’s moved in. She hadn’t lied to him when she’d said most of her life in this universe had been spent trying to _leave_ it. The place possesses the bare necessities, but little else.

No hint of personal taste, not much in term of comfort, and not a single photograph to be found anywhere.

Rose did not exactly plan on offering him a thorough tour once they arrived, reluctant to let him see how _empty_ she’d let her life become, but she did assume they’d have to go through the basics– here’s the kitchen, here’s the bathroom, here’s the bedroom.

As it turns out, they don’t make it passed the entrance hall – not initially. The moment she turns on the light and his eyes take in her small living room, she knows he won’t need to see much more to make the right connections. His expression, which has been furrowed for the last two hours, somehow becomes graver. When he turns his head and looks down at her, she forces herself not to avert her eyes.

She opens her mouth to say something, defend her lack of a private life, but she can’t come up with  a good lie. Not that she wants to lie to him. She closes her mouth, eventually giving a vague shrug of her shoulder, her cheeks warming up as she drops her eyes to his chest.

She feels his palm upon her flushed cheek, his touch tender yet insistent, the way it always seems to be, pressing to tilt her head up towards him. She follows the movement, leaning against him as he brings his face down to hers, his second hand already coming up and disappearing in her hair.

The moment she lets herself melt into his kiss, she almost _feels_ the tension trickling out of her; judging by the long sigh he soon lets out against her lips, he’s starting to relax a little, too, soon pressing his nose into that small hollow between her jaw and ear.

“Can we agree not to do that again?” He asks in a pained tone, his voice low and warm…so warm against her skin.

She lets out a soundless chuckle, that exhale sounding more tired than she anticipated; now that she’s relaxing, she’s starting to feel the strain of their journey – not just the last six hours of it. They haven’t exactly been sleeping that much these past few days.

“The kissing?” She cannot help but ask, a teasing note in her tired voice. He answers by gently biting down on the sensitive skin of her neck, and she almost purrs, her toes curling in her shoes as her fingers curl in his hair. “Fine, no more planes for now. ‘t was rather terrible.”

“Mmm…” he hums against her pulsing point. “Your ruthless _No-Touching_ policy did not help either. It would have made that fourth hour so much more bearable.”

She smiles lazily, eyes still closed, comforted by the sound of his voice and the feel of his breath, trailing down her neck. “I might’ve to reconsider things a little…” she breathes out sleepily.

She doesn’t immediately notice that he’s stopped the slow decent upon her neck, too warm and relaxed now to mind this small change.

“Rose?”

She reopens her eyes; she’s a lot more slumped against him than she remembers being, having apparently started to…doze off, too. She blinks up at him, forcing her gaze to refocus. “Sorry. You were sayin’?”

He’s scowling a little, but there is genuine tenderness in his gaze. “Not much. Conversation wasn’t exactly on my mind.” His hand is back on her cheek, his thumb trailing her skin. “To be honest, what I do have in mind would be a lot more fun with you awake.”

“I _am_ awake,” she protests just as her body betrays her, letting out a long yawn.

She doesn’t resist when he pulls her to him, letting herself rest heavily against his chest; she buries her whole face into his jumper, drowning her lungs with the smell of him.

“Bedroom?” he whispers in her ear, and she reluctantly unwraps an arm from around him to wave a hand in the general direction of her room.

He’s moving, then, and she has no other choice but to follow, still heavily leaning against him as they make their way through her small flat, stirring them in the right direction. By the time they reach her room, the big of her sleepiness has passed.

“I’m gonna wash up a little,” she tells him, her chin on his shoulder. “Should wake me up enough for whatever you feel like doing.”

“I’ve never felt more seduced,” he replies, pressing a small kiss to the tip of her nose, and she offers him half a grin, her tongue briefly poking between her teeth.

She escapes his warmth as one would tear off a bandaid – swiftly, and in one go, stepping away from him and walking to the bathroom’s door. When she turns to look at him, he’s already sat down on her bed, looking up at her with tired, miserable eyes.

“Two minutes top,” she promises with a small shake of her head and an amused smile. “Make yourself comfortable,” she wriggles an eyebrow at him, well aware that in his vocabulary, it probably means his clothes are not going to stay on for long.

She’s quick to wash up, a little more than two minutes, a little less than five. She becomes so lost in her thoughts as she changes, taking off her trousers and bra, already thinking about everything they’ll have to do in the upcoming days, that she doesn’t realise how… _quiet_ it is until she’s about ready to leave the bathroom. A ridiculous amount of scenarios pop into her head, wondering what he might be up to out there; somehow, the thought that he might have simply fallen asleep does not even cross her mind.

And yet...

Lying in the middle of her queen bed in some weird, inexplicable angle, half on his side, half on his stomach, the Doctor is fast asleep.

Rose spends an indefinite amount of time watching him, her temple pressed to the doorjamb, before she forces herself to move. He’s surprisingly _not_ naked, only having managed to take off his shoes and the one sock, before he’d succumbed to that ruthless wave of exhaustion that had hit her, back in the entrance hall.

She moves swiftly and quietly, pulling the curtains closed first, before focusing on him. She gently extracts his glasses from the front of his jumper, digging into both his back pockets to extract his screwdriver and psychic paper. She spends some time sitting at the edge of her bed, after that, slowly running her fingers through his thick hair, allowing herself a minute (or five) to feel overwhelmed with incredulity and gratitude at her current situation. As always, it is a bittersweet emotion, never quite able not to think about her other Doctor, and the sacrifice he had to make.

Rose doesn’t allow herself to wallow; not anymore, and definitely not right now. She sets upon joining him onto the bed instead, which is easier said than done.

She find herself thanking all her years of gymnastic as she wriggles her way into his arms, unwilling to wake him up from his slumber, just as reluctant to try sleeping out of his embrace. After some trials and errors, and a few unavoidable shifts of his limbs, she’s managed to slip between his arms, her back to his chest. When she gives one last wriggle of her hips to bring their bodies closer, he startles awake behind her. He tenses for a moment, his inhale loud and somewhat panicked.

It doesn’t last.

As soon as he realises where he is, and with whom, his entire body relaxes behind hers, and he breathes out long and deep against her nape. When he moves, she moves with him, allowing him to wrap himself more securely around her.

One of his legs comes across hers and he pulls her to him, finding her fingers and intertwining them close to her heart. He nestles his face into the curve between her shoulder and neck, his nose briefly nuzzling her skin before he settles down.

His warm exhales lull her to sleep.

…

Rose is stirred from deep sleep when his entire body tightens around hers and he gulps for air again.

She awakes to the sensation of his arms squeezing her firmly to him, her back pinned to his chest, their joined hands now pressed tightly to her sternum, nearly to the point of discomfort. She doesn’t move, letting him take comfort in the feel of her, more pained by his loud, quivery breaths against her neck and what might be causing his distress than she is by his too-strong hold.

When she does move, eventually, freeing her hand from his grip, she reaches behind her, weaving her fingers through his slightly damp hair, her touch slow, and soothing. Her caress helps him calm down, his inhales and exhales deepening as seconds, then minutes pass.

His hold on her begins to relax, too…until she changes the way her fingers move, using her nails rather than the pad of her fingers to graze his scalp. The Doctor shudders strongly against her back, his entire frame instantly tightening again.

She doesn’t remain motionless, this time, opposing some resistance to his hold, needing to face him, to reach more of him. He quickly picks up on her cues, letting her turn in his arms; he remains as compliant when she continues to push, until he’s rolling onto his back, and she comes to straddle his hips, half-leaning over him, both forearms upon his chest.

Their eyes meet in the bluish light of a fast approaching dawn, and she sees in his gaze a reflection of all these emotions she feels, bubbling so close to the surface. Lust, although present, is not what dominates in his eyes.

“You all right?” She murmurs, her nails gently scratching his few days old beard.

He swallows hard, but gives a small nod of his head, before both his hands come up to her face, tenderly clearing it off, pushing back messy strands of hair. His fingers remain buried in it as he gently pulls her down, until her forehead comes to rest upon his, and she shifts slightly upon him, her own fingers curling in his hair. The first meeting of their lips is soft, and loving.

It doesn’t remain that way for long.

His hands come down, both his arms encircling her to press her more securely to him even as Rose begins to move, prompting a reciprocal rolling of their hips. It slowly gains in momentum, until she’s swallowing his moan, his fingertips digging into her sides.

When she straightens up a little, his fingers release her to grab the hem of her shirt; she raises her arms, wordlessly encouraging him, and he swiftly pulls the garment over her head. Having already discarded of her trousers and bra before she’d wiggled her way into his arms, the removal of her shirt leaves her in nothing more than her underpants, while he remains fully dressed beneath her.

She almost speaks again, half-tempted to tease him about his terrible state of non-nakedness…until she gets caught in his gaze. His eyes have completed a swift, appreciative overview of the sight offered to him, and somehow, entrapped in the heat of his gaze, the desire to banter with him dissipates entirely.

She craves the feel of his hands on her instead, longs to feel his breath upon her flushed skin.

It must have shown, because he’s pulling himself up, then, his face soon pressed between her breasts, both his palms and all ten of his fingers splayed upon her thighs, digging once more into muscles and flesh. She buries her fingers and nose into his hair, keeping him close to her as her head swims with his intoxicating scent and the sheer feel of him, as entranced by his silent intensity as she was on their first night together.

His hands move over her backside, sliding beneath the fabric of her underpants, squeezing to bring her flush against him as his tongue and lips move, too, capturing her nipple into wet heat, eliciting hot sparks of pleasure that shoot down and pool deep within. She ripples into him as a low moan escapes her; although quiet, the sound seems loud in the otherwise silent room.

It spurs him on, his mouth briefly releasing her to graze his prickly cheek across the oversensitive skin of her chest, before giving all of his attention to her other breast. Even as she sinks deeper into the feel of him, already slave to that throbbing need within her, Rose becomes increasingly aware of the roughness of his clothes against her skin, longing to feel him, all of him.

The Doctor could have happily spent the next hour or two carrying on doing what he’s doing, enjoying this quite a bit, especially the fact that Rose is more than responsive to it. He’s forced to stop rather abruptly when she grabs both his shirt and jumper and forcefully drags them upward, soon pulling them over his head with unmistakable impatience.

A shift has occurred in her, changing their slow, lazy build-up into something more urgent.

He shudders almost violently as the cool air meets his flushed skin, every inch of it now covered in goose bumps. The chill doesn’t last long, as Rose swiftly wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him with a fervour that would be quite enough to chase the cold away on its own. She does much more than that, though, pinning herself to him as she deepens the kiss, seeking him, and he groans at the soft feel of her breasts, pressed so tightly against him. His jeans have become uncomfortably constricted, almost to the point of pain; that ache regularly fades, his every nerve prickling with hot pleasure every time she rolls into him.

When even that delicious friction isn’t enough to lessen his discomfort anymore, he tightens his hold on her hips in a silent request, hissing softly against her lips. She stops her movements, pulling away to look at him. Still, they don’t speak, Rose reading everything she needs to know in his eyes and the constricted look on his face. She pushes lightly on his chest, until he lets himself fall back upon the mattress.

She frees him of his jeans and boxer wonderfully fast, with barely any help from him at all, discarding of her last piece of clothing just as swiftly, so that the next time she slithers upon him, there is nothing between them but flesh and skin and heated air. Their bodies come together in yearning, their kissing somewhat frantic, now. She’s everywhere and everything, soft, hot, supple, and all _his_ , all because of him, his fingers between her legs drawing long notes out of her that echo through the night as she shivers and burns against him, so that when she guides him inside of her, the sound they both let out resembles a sigh more than a moan.

She clings to him so tightly, keeping him pressed to the bed with her entire body as she moves, creating exactly the kind of friction she needs, judging by her raspy moans or the way her nails sink into his scalp. He lets her set the pace, swift, deep, and steady, content to let her carry him forth – unable to do much else to be quite honest.

The mere feel of her, surrounding him so completely, is enough to send him spiralling up and up and _up_ with each strong sway of her body upon his, each meeting of their hips, pinning her tighter to him with his palms on her lower back to increase that pressure she’s chasing so desperately, her breath scorching hot upon his parted lips.

She comes faster than neither of them anticipated, gasping his name as she does so, before the sound dissolves into a long moan, her every muscle pulsating around him, clinging onto him with so much force that he might have felt pain…hadn’t he been caught up in her wave, her rushing pleasure triggering his own.

The Doctor keeps her close, afterwards, none of them moving much at all, her body deliciously heavy upon his, her face upon his face, his fingertips tracing symbols into the curve of her cooling back. When she does move, eventually, she brings her face to his neck, pressing a soft, lingering kiss upon his pulsing point, before breathing him in, slowly, deeply, until he’s humming his contentment, the sound reverberating through her.

She’s moving again, then, her breath so close to his ear, causing a familiar shiver to run down the length of his body.

“Welcome home,” Rose murmurs.

His laughter is soft, and low, and a little bit choked up, tightening his hold on her as he shifts, just enough for his lips to brush her forehead.

“Welcome home,” the Doctor reciprocates upon her skin, having forced the quiet words passed the lump in his throat.

They don’t speak at all, after that.

They really don’t need to.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always appreciated! I'd love to know who's interested in this series ^^


End file.
